


Long Hours Since.

by silver_sun



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Exit Wounds, Written years ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 04:57:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_sun/pseuds/silver_sun
Summary: In the aftermath of Gray's attack on Torchwood, Ianto tries to cope.Character death warning is for canon events of Exit Wounds. No additional characters die in this fic.Written years ago, previously posted on my livejournal.





	Long Hours Since.

**Title:** Long Hours Since.  
**Characters/Pairings:** Jack/Ianto  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word count:** 875  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Exit Wounds.  
**Summary:** In the aftermath of Gray's attack on Torchwood, Ianto tries to cope.

 

Ianto swirls the remains of the whiskey in his glass, staring at the amber liquid with red, tear swollen eyes.

It’s been six hours since his world fell apart, since everything that he’d managed to put together since Canary Wharf and his life in London had disintegrated around him.

Five since he and Gwen had managed to get Jack to let go of Toshiko.

And four since Jack had yelled John Hart to get out of the hell out of the Hub and he’d deal with him in the morning.

Three long hours since he’d walked a still tearful Gwen to Rhys’ car and told him to take good care of her.

Two hours since he’d started to clean the Hub, desperate to have something to occupy his mind.

One hour since he’d thrown the mop and bucket across the Hub, the utter futility of it overwhelming him. The scale of devastation in the Hub, in the city about and in his life too great for him to be able to find any thought that it could ever be alright again.

It’s been just over half an hour since he’d walked past Jack and taken his decanter of whiskey. Taking it from Jack who’d been asleep or passed out across his desk, an old takeaway menu stuck damply to cheek where the tears hadn’t yet dried.

Drinking heavily on an empty stomach, the remnants of the painkillers that Owen had given him for his shoulder still running through his body, is a bad idea. But the need to forget is too strong and Ianto can’t bring himself to care.

The neat whiskey had burnt, almost choking him as he gulped down the first glass. It had burnt less on the second, and the third had barely been noticeable. He’s not sure how many glasses he’s drunk since then.

Not that it matters, nothing matters, his life has been ripped apart again. Tosh and Owen are gone, Gwen wants to leave, and Jack seems, for want of a better word, broken.

And here he is, surviving, making lists for rebuilding, living while so many people - better people, his exhausted mind supplies – are not. There must be a reason why he has survived, he doesn’t think there can be any other explanation why he’s not one of the dead, it doesn't seem fair.

He looks towards Jack's office, wondering if maybe his reason is there; Jack and Torchwood. To be there, to be the one who makes sure everything keeps going, no matter what. Jack had always said that the twenty-first century is when everything is going to change.

It seems to make some kind of twisted sense now, and Ianto decides that is going to have to be enough.

He'll start by getting Jack to bed, to let him sleep, so that he'll be ready to deal with what tomorrow will bring. Then he get on with everything else that needs to be done.

Standing up, dizziness threatening to overtake him, Ianto leans against the wall taking deep breathes until he's sure he can make it to the office without falling over.

Jack is still asleep and he mumbles, but doesn't wake as Ianto tries to rouse him.

Pain flares through his shoulder as he tries to move Jack, but he not about to let that stop him. Gritting his teeth he tries again, this time opting to drape one of Jack's arms round him shoulders.

It hurts, but Ianto decides it's bearable, as he manages to get Jack on his feet.  
  
They’ve only gone a few steps toward the sofa, Ianto having discounted getting Jack down the manhole to his room, before a wave of dizziness strikes him and He stumbles, the weight of Jack carrying them both the floor.

The sudden impact with the ground startles Jack awake, and he looks around panicked, struggling away from Ianto, barely seeming to realise where he is.

Clutching his arm, trying to lessen the fresh wave of agony surging through his shoulder, Ianto lies where he has fallen, unable to do anything other than try to breathe through the pain.  
  
Ianto is still lying on the floor, trying to find the energy to go to Jack, when Jack moves over to him, and carefully helps him to sit up.

“Ianto? Tell me what's wrong?” There's something vulnerable in Jack's voice, the loss and sorrow from the days events clear in his eyes.

“I can’t do this on my own.” Ianto knows he’s crying, grief, exhaustion and pain stripping him of his usual reserve.

“Neither can I,” Jack whispers, wrapping his arms around him, letting Ianto rest his head against his shoulder. “Not any more.”

Eventually, supporting each other, they manage to get into Jack’s bed without any further injury. Too weary to do anything more than attempt to sleep, they lie held tight in each others arms, drawing comfort in the fact that for tonight at least they aren't alone.


End file.
